Blood Moon
by I Am Definitely Jeff Bridges
Summary: Percy Jackson, Hero of Olympus, lies bleeding slowly to death in a forest somewhere in Montana. The only person who can save him now is the goddess Artemis - but for some reason, she seems more interested in his love life than his actual life. Dark comedy. M for gore.


**Blood Moon**

Percy's arms are practically the only part of his body that are still working properly, and he's grateful for them as he drags himself across the muddy forest floor. His left leg still has some movement, and while it's definitely not strong enough to stand on, he can still use it to help propel himself forwards.

He's only gone a few feet when it feels like his guts are about to spill out of the wound in his stomach. He knows it's probably not wide enough for that to happen, but he rolls over onto his back anyway. It's not a risk he'd like to take.

Position corrected, he now shuffles backwards. It's slow and painful going, and he's only gone a little further before he has to call it a day, and manoeuvres himself until his back is resting against a tree.

He leans his head back carelessly, and pulls it sharply forward again when the pain of contact reminds him of the bloody wound on its back.

If a doctor were to ask him 'where does it hurt?' Percy isn't sure he'd be able to give a short answer.

Even so, he comes to the decision that with nothing else to do – and with sleep out of the question, when there could be any number of monsters roaming in the woods – he should probably assess the extent of the damage to his body.

His right leg is useless. He can't feel below the knee, which probably isn't good, and there seems to be an angle in the shin, which definitely isn't good. His left leg is mauled and bloody and the monster somehow ripped half of his trouser-leg off as well, but he can feel it. The important thing, he thinks to himself, is that he knows it hurts. Self-awareness is everything. Or something.

His left arm's scratched and also bloody, and there'll be a beautiful crop of bruises coming up by tomorrow, but it looks worse than it is. He can still get things done with that arm. His right, in blessed contrast to the rest of his body, is more or less unscathed.

Finally, he grits his teeth and slowly begins to peel up the very bottom of his camp T-shirt, the remains of which are now a mottled red and brown instead of the original orange.

It sticks to his stomach, and he has to jerk it up to pull it away from the wound.

He hisses in pain and shock as he sees the wound on his abdomen. There are other injuries further up his chest, but they're comparatively minor. This is where he took the brunt of the impact.

There's actually a hole in him. It's not particularly wide, and, together with the darkness of the night, is too bloody for him to learn anything new about his own body's inner workings, but he can tell it's worryingly deep. If it's not treated fairly soon, the world will be minus one Percy Jackson.

That would be a shame, he thinks idly, scanning his surroundings for an indication that the thing which attacked him – or perhaps stampeded would be a better word – had dropped his pack around here somewhere.

No such luck.

His shirt is only hanging together by a few stray threads at this point so he decides to rid himself of it entirely so that he can see the rest of the damage. He grasps its side and _jerks_.

Then stops short, gasping in pain. One strand of fabric has snagged on a piece of bloody tissue jutting out of his back.

When he gets home, he promises himself, he's going straight to the Styx for another quick dip. Sure, he might burn to ash, but he was actually quite a fan of not being shredded apart whenever something went wrong at camp, or especially when some god too lazy to clean up after themselves had an errand that needed running.

Wincing, hyperventilating, and occasionally groaning, he eases and wiggles the shirt pieces out from under the loose flap of skin, finally discarding the tattered netting that had once been a shirt. He shifts slightly so that he's resting against the tree with a precious unblemished patch of skin. The creature hadn't marred his back _too_ badly, at least.

The moon's full tonight, so there's enough silvery light for him to see the blood glisten on his heaving chest. The gory sight makes him think of Tartarus, and assuming he makes it through this alive, he'll have a few new scars to go with the uncountable numbers he got down there.

He picks up the rag he'd been wearing a moment ago, scrunches it up, and gently tries to apply a little pressure to the awful stomach wound. As would surprise absolutely no-one, it hurts.

That's the point at which the idea of death becomes unmistakably real for him. Sure, he's always known he's minutes away from mortal danger at the very best of times, but after everything he's been through, to die on some stupid errand – he still hasn't found the dead seer who's supposed to tell him what this gods-damned quest is even _about._

Percy came to terms with death a long time ago. When he goes, though, he'd quite like to know why. This isn't good enough, he says to himself. He decides he's not going to die here, and, with a sudden burst of energy, struggles to raise himself upright. It hurts just to get his top half vertical, and when he looks at what lies below, a fresh wave of doubts rush over him. He's definitely not standing up now. He may not ever again.

The blood's still shining on his belly. His shirt has barely helped to stem the flow.

"I hope you have a reason for this state of undress, Jackson."

"I -"

"And that reason had better not be the seduction of young maidens."

Percy looks up at the goddess of the hunt, who's standing over him, bow in hand and eyebrow raised at him questioningly. If she's joking, then she's doing an impressive job at hiding the fact.

"That's not the reason, my lady," he says. "I don't think I'm in a fit state to be seducing anyone, to be honest."

"No," Artemis agrees. "But that doesn't generally stop most men from trying."

"Oh. Well, I won't try."

"Good."

After this profound utterance, the goddess falls silent and watches the son of Poseidon squirm uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Um," he says. "My lady. Do you think you could possibly help me? I seem to be, er, bleeding slowly and painfully to death."

She cocks her head, and there's a gleam in her eyes. Percy wonders if, hunting animals for so long in the wilderness, the goddess is not totally… _stable_.

Not that any of the Greek pantheon apart from Poseidon can really fit any definition of that word, and Poseidon only because he's the god of horses. The real worry is not whether or not she is stable, but in what way she is unstable. Is it the _slightly eccentric will make you do tricks for help_ kind of unstable, or the _might just turn you into a jackalope_ _'for the lols'_ kind of unstable?

"Perhaps," she says, and Percy can only assume that she's talking about helping him, since there can't really be any argument about whether or not he's inching gradually towards life's big neon exit signs. Unless she can read his mind, and is answering his mental question, of course.

Maybe the signs aren't neon; he doesn't really remember how the underworld looks.

He realises vaguely that he's in danger of becoming delirious, shakes his head vigorously, and answers Artemis.

"Thanks." He thinks it best to act as though she _has_ agreed to help, rather than just not flat-out refusing to.

There's another awkward silence.

"So, uh," he begins, wondering where the rest of the sentence is going. Fortunately, Artemis interrupts before he has to work that out.

"What are you doing out here, son of Poseidon?"

"Well, long story," he says, smiling at her and hoping she'll accept that. It is, in fact, a long story, and Percy would rather not waste his remaining time upon the earth relating it to a goddess who doesn't really care.

She carries on looking at him, so he swallows his frustration and gives her the severely abridged version.

"Well, a bunch of weird stuff kept happening back at camp, so we asked Rachel why, and she said to ask Apollo-"

"Who was no help at all."

It occurs to Percy that perhaps directly contradicting an Olympian goddess is not the best idea when his life lies firmly in her hands. "Well," he says cautiously, "he said that we needed to talk to Tiresias, this old prophet who-"

"I know who Tiresias is," she says. "He might be able to help your camp. I recall that he was a woman for seven years once."

"Oh. Cool. Well, Apparently he's supposed to be hanging out somewhere here in Montana, which is why I'm here."

She looks at him for a beat, before saying "I meant why are you… _here_?"

Percy has to blink a few times in disbelief as she gestures at his maimed form, the sweep of her hand making him dizzy as it circles his face. He thinks for a moment about his life, how in the space of a couple of years he's gone from Saviour of Olympus to bleeding out against a tree on the other side of the country from his home and being interrogated by the moon goddess with questions that are phrased too vaguely for him to be able to tell whether they're philosophical or merely curious.

He also thinks about why the Hades Artemis hadn't clarified what she meant at the _start_ of his explanation, rather than just complaining about Apollo and showing off that she knew more ancient Greek myths than Percy did.

"I was camping, and then I got trampled by this cow thing-"

"The Cretan Bull. I know it. We've been hunting it for weeks."

"Well, I found it for you. I'll tell you which way it went if you like, once I'm back on my feet."

"I know which way it went."

"Well-"

"It went that way." With a grand flourish, Artemis points in the direction in which the bull had indeed departed. Percy supposes that it's not too difficult, considering the fact that the animal hadn't exactly made an effort to avoid inconveniences like trees. He sees a dryad glumly surveying the damage done to her home.

"Right. Yeah, it did. But, do you think you could maybe see your way to helping me anyway? Please?"

"Perhaps."

Percy resists the urge to express his frustration in any way. It would only end badly, in his current state. "Yeah, you said."

"Indeed. You seem puzzled by that."

Deciding that if he doesn't talk bluntly, then nothing will be accomplished, Percy lets his caution go the same way as his backpack: into the distance at great speed. "Maybe. It's just, well, you seem a little different to the last time I met you."

"That was under a waxing gibbous moon. This is a half moon in its third quarter. There are few things more complex or enigmatic," she says. Honestly, Percy regrets asking.

"Obviously," he says sarcastically – though fortunately not sarcastically enough for Artemis to notice. "Does that mean you'll help me then?"

"Perhaps."

"Right. It's just, you're gonna need to make that decision pretty soon, otherwise there won't be anything left of me to help."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Would that-? Yeah, you know, personally, dying wouldn't make me so happy right now."

"What do you have to live for, Percy Jackson?"

"What do I have to live for?"

"Percy Jackson."

"Yeah?"

"Well? Be honest. I will know if you lie to me."

"Oh. You know. Stuff."

" _Stuff?_ "

He gapes. The world seems to be swaying, and Artemis isn't helping. "Yeah," he says, weakly. "Stuff."

She stands, silent, and Percy isn't really sure who's waiting for whom, or which of them is being patient with the other.

"I'm a teenager!" he says, almost shouting. "I don't know what I have to live for, because I haven't really figured it out yet, but my life was just beginning to settle down and I'm pretty certain there's a lot to look forward to!"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't what obvious?"

"Your life's purpose."

"NO!" He actually does shout it this time. A small jet of blood spurts from the tensing muscles in his belly. "Ah!" he gasps.

"You are a hero, Jackson."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before. If it's all the same to you, I'd like that not to be the only thing I be before I die."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, for the world as a whole. But I've done enough of that. I get that it's selfish, and maybe – probably – things won't work out like I want them to, but I've got a life of my own. I want to do something good on my own time, not just working to complete some idiotic new prophecy."

"You find saving the world idiotic?"

"You know what I mean!"

"I'm afraid that I do not, Perseus."

The use of his full name catches Percy off-guard. He flinches. More blood bubbles to the surface of the wound on his stomach. He looks at Artemis, confused, and sees _something_ in her eyes. He's not sure what it is exactly, but still takes some kind of comfort in it. It looks awfully human.

Despite what some people might say about him, Percy isn't careless with his health and safety. Reckless, maybe, when the occasion called for it. He takes risks when the rewards are large enough, and can act rashly before thinking things through properly. Even so, none of these things mean that he doesn't generally do his best not to get blasted to smithereens when talking to super-powerful immortals. Sure, he pushes them gently, but is very, _very_ careful not to cross any boundaries. Except under the aforementioned circumstances.

Right now, though, there is nothing calling for him to be remotely provocative towards Artemis, except for one tiny detail: she had asked him to be honest.

That makes things difficult.

He leans his head back against the tree, more gently this time. It doesn't hurt at all, though that leaves him unsure if he should be relieved or worried that his senses are failing.

"I was twelve when I found out I was a demigod," he began. "I realise that's probably the best time for it, before your scent's too strong but after you're old enough to cope okay, but that still doesn't make it easy. My first contact with the gods was being accused of stealing. For someone with my background especially, that didn't exactly sit well with me."

"Your background?"

"I've spent my whole life being told I'm a problem. At that point, the whole thing just seemed like a bad joke. And then I had to save the world. More times than I can count. And I've forgotten what it was like to even be a little bit normal."

"Normal? How boring."

"It's safe though, isn't it? From where I'm sitting, excitement is a little too dangerous."

Artemis doesn't seem to have a response to that. Leaving a goddess speechless is not something Percy's used to, and it doesn't exactly make him feel more comfortable.

"I'm not saying I'd change everything," he clarifies. "But I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being the only one people look to. I want to go and live my life with Annabeth, with my friends, in peace."

"Annabeth would have made quite the huntress," says the goddess.

"Yeah." He smiles. "Annabeth would be good at pretty much anything she wanted to do."

"You misunderstand me. She had the true huntress' spirit. Before you distracted her."

Percy has to bite back an angry retort. He suspects that Artemis is trying to goad him, and much as he wants to resist it, he can still feel his anger rising.

"She would have been my finest handmaiden. As powerful as Zoë and more intelligent than Thalia. There would be little she could not do. And she had the opportunity to become more than just a demigod: she could even have earned a place in the stars at her death. What is so special about you, Percy Jackson, that a woman such as Annabeth Chase would choose you over me?"

"I don't know, alright? I don't think it was a case of choosing me over you-"

"What was it, then?"

"Well – maybe she was thinking, you know, we were fourteen-"

"Why would it matter that _you_ were fourteen?"

Percy flounders. "I- she just had her whole life ahead of her. Anything could happen."

"Is she of the kind who let the world take them where it will, rather than seeking a destiny of her own making?"

"No, I don't mean that. It's just the opposite, actually. I mean, Annabeth is the sort of person who will organise every single detail of her life if she possibly can, down to the number of peas she has for dinner. And in one way, joining the Hunt would've let her do that, but in another way, it would have stopped her. It would have locked her into one course for the rest of her life, maybe for a thousand years or more. And I don't think she wanted to close off all her options so early. I know it takes a long time for anything to change on Olympus -"

Here, Artemis snorts, he hopes in agreement.

"-but for us demigods, things can change so quickly that Apollo can bring the sun down on a whole different world to the one it came up to that morning."

"You speak well, for one who says 'yeah,' 'well' and 'I mean' so much. Have you ever considered becoming an orator?"

"I'm not really in a position to plan any further than about five minutes in the future right now."

"Even so. You would make a good Roman, for a boy."

"Gee, thanks."

"You are welcome. But you have more explaining to do. You say that Annabeth chose not to join my Hunt because she was afraid of commitment. I can understand that, however foolish it was for a daughter of the wisdom goddess not to realise that mine was the best offer she would ever receive. But you have yet to explain why, with all the options still open to her as an intelligent and self-sufficient young woman in the nineteenth century -"

"Twenty-first."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's the twenty-first century. Not the nineteenth."

Artemis' eyes flash dangerously; she doesn't like being contradicted. "Why did she choose you, Jackson?"

Percy, on the other hand, does blink. The question is unexpectedly to-the-point. With his hands covered in blood and his focus gradually slipping, though, he has little choice but to give an equally blunt answer. "Because she loves me."

"She loves you?"

"Yeah yeah yeah."

Her eyes flash. "You should not be so flippant about such a thing."

Percy grimaces. "It was the Beatles. Sorry. Not important."

"How do you know?"

"That she loves me?"

"Yes."

"Because she tells me so. And I trust her."

"Most men are incapable of such trust. It seems a lot to take on faith."

"Well," says Percy, still doing his best to mentally proof-read his sentences for any potential insults while still keeping the conversation ticking, "it's not just that. I mean, the way she acts – I can be pretty confident that she likes and respects and cares about me. So love is really just a particular part of that. And so it's not such a big leap of faith to accept that when she says it, it's the truth. Obviously not everyone who says they love someone means it. But, I think that if you stand back and think about it – or lie back in my case – then you can tell which ones are which."

"I see," says Artemis. "And do you love her?"

"Yes."

There's a long silence, during which Percy notices a steady drip of blood from his chin onto his chest which he'd previously missed. He tries to figure out which part of his face it's coming from, but when everything which doesn't hurt is just numb, pinpointing exact wounds is a little difficult.

Then Artemis smiles.

It's a little scary, to be honest, and Percy is just wondering if this would count as mock job interview experience when the next question arrives.

"Does she know?"

"That I love her?"

"That you love her," confirms the goddess.

Percy swallows. "I think so? I try to be good to her. I try to tell her when I can."

"When you can?"

"Yeah. When it's not totally irrelevant. When it's not inappropriate. When we're not busy doing other things."

"Surely those would be the times when it would be best to declare your love?"

"I don't think so? Why?"

"If you only tell Annabeth you love her when it is socially expected, then is that the act of one in love, or one who society expects to be in love?"

Percy rubs his forehead as he tries to wrap his head around that, and sees a few stars in the process. If he hadn't been lying down anyway, he'd probably have collapsed at that point, and makes a mental note that if he survives this, he'll warn any prospective Huntresses that they need to clarify the _type_ of star they want to be turned into at death. "I don't mean I only say it when I'm supposed to though. I mean, you've just got to notice when other people are gonna be okay with it. I think."

"Hm. And Annabeth is all you have to live for in this normal life of yours?"

Percy, getting whiplash from the sudden change in subject, tries to sit up in confusion as he protests with a loud "No!" but succeeds only in sending a jet of blood across the forest floor before falling back. The mangled tissue on the back of his head rearranges itself somewhat due to the heavy contact with the hard floor, and he groans in pain again.

"No," he splutters. "I've got friends like Grover and Tyson…"

"Confused creatures at the best of times."

Hurting too much to argue with that, he gasps out another reason to live. "My Mom…"

"Who loves you because you are her son. She chose Poseidon, not you, and even that calls her taste into question."

"Other demigods. Nico, Hazel, Frank, Thalia, Leo, Pi-"

"Half of whom I have not encountered and the other half of whom are as desperate and half-mad as you are, apart from Thalia, on whom you have no claim because she is my Lieutenant. Annabeth truly is the only reason you have to live."

Percy is about to tell her that he is definitely not the half-mad one in this situation, so it's probably a good thing that his mouth suddenly fills with blood and brings on a coughing fit that means he's unable to force the words out.

"Your life is a singularly pathetic one, Perseus Jackson," continues Artemis, oblivious to his struggles. "But I believe I will save you. Your argument for your own life was a poor one, and you could do with working on your rhetorical flourishes. Nevertheless, it is true that Annabeth may feel something for you, and as tribute to her Huntress' spirit, I will spare you. Do not make me regret it."

She lifts a piece of intestine which must have escaped through the wound on his belly at some point, carefully placing it back within the confines of his stomach, and gently moves his broken leg into what is more or less a straight line (not seeming to notice Percy almost blacking out from the pain as she does so). Then, with a wave of her hand, she reseals the skin and heals the bone, before standing back to admire her handiwork. "There is a lake some five hundred metres in that direction," she says, pointing. "It should be sufficient for your purposes."

Then she turns and stretches her legs out as she runs gracefully off after the Cretan Bull, leaving a half-dead demigod at the foot of the tree.

Percy would love to sit around and figure out what just happened. Really, he would. But he's also painfully aware that while the goddess healed his two worst wounds, there are a plethora of others just as capable of killing him, so instead, he rolls over and starts the long and painful crawl in the direction she pointed.

* * *

It takes about three weeks, impromptu trips to Wyoming and Florida, and copious quantities of monster dust, but Percy, now more or less fully healed, eventually finds himself sitting in Cabin Three with Annabeth again, having filled her in on the events of his quest – though in a heavily censored form, naturally. If she knew how close he'd come to dying, then there's not question about it: she'd kill him, and he hasn't even had the chance yet to make the trip to the Styx he'd promised himself.

"And she was asking about… _us_?" she says, incredulously.

"Sort of," says Percy. "Firstly it was what I've got to live for and why she should bother saving me – and it took more effort to ask that than just to save me, I'd like to point out – but then there was a long bit in the middle about how mortal relationships work and how people know other people love them and stuff. And then at the end she asked if anyone apart from you cared about me, but she didn't seem very interested in the answers. And then she called me pathetic and saved my life."

"Interesting," says Annabeth. "If you ask me – and obviously this is only from a second-hand account and it's impossible to be certain because of the type of goddess Artemis is – but _if_ you ask me – well, it sounds like she's trying to figure out her way around her first real relationship."

Percy blinks.

Percy thinks.

Percy looks at Annabeth, who's looking thoughtful.

"Really? Could that be it? It couldn't could it? You know, it could be actually. She might be. But that's crazy, isn't it? And you think she was asking me for, like, relationship advice? Isn't that weird? But, you know, I think you might be right. She was asking because – oh my gods, you _are_ right. That's so…"

Then he looks at her again and she's grinning. "Oh, hold on," he says. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

She laughs. "Of course I am, Seaweed Brain. That would be ridiculous with a capital R."

"Ha, yeah, I guess so," says Percy. "That _would_ be…crazy. Mental. Stupid. Absurd."

"Outrageous?"

"That too. Ridiculous, in fact. Like you mentioned."

The two of them sit there in silence for a moment, totally alone but for the other and their thoughts.

Then, at exactly the same time, they both look up at each other again.

"Who do-" begins Annabeth, as Percy says "How will-"

"You go," says Percy.

"Who do you think the guy is?" his girlfriend asks. "Or do you think it's a girl?"

"That's difficult and I'm not sure," he tells her. "I was just wondering how Zeus'll react."

Annabeth looks at him in horror. "You're right," she agrees, "we should get planning now." Then, from nowhere, she produces produces pen and paper, licking her finger as she flips the notebook open.

"Now," she begins, businesslike and brisk. "Assuming there's anything left of you, would you like to be buried or cremated?"

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **So, I dunno how good this is, but it at least feels more coherent than the last vaguely comedic one I did, Be Grateful For the Attention.**

 **Please help me out – review?**


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